Chapter 57: The Second Tribal Chief
At the northern edge of the clearing, directly within the immediate reach of the tribe’s expanding territory, a Magnari cleanly sheathed his stone-clad dagger after putting down a scorpion-type predator.
The creature’s thick body still twitched against the earth, several precise wounds visible between the hardened plates of its chitinous body. None of those wounds had been particularly deep, nor had the Magnari relied upon overwhelming strength to bring the creature down. Instead, every strike had landed exactly where it needed to, targeting the softer joints between its hardened plates while carefully avoiding the dangerous pincers that could have torn through his flesh if he had made even a single careless mistake.
He hadn’t fought the predator like one beast desperately struggling against another.
He had fought it as though he already knew exactly where it would move, where its body was vulnerable, and how much strength was necessary to bring it down without wasting his own energy.
To anyone unfamiliar with the Magnari’s earlier state, the battle might have seemed rather ordinary.
But it wasn’t.
The Magnari had once hunted through little more than instinct and overwhelming physical strength. Their weapons had been crude things, and their knowledge of the creatures around them had rarely extended beyond knowing which ones could be eaten and which ones could eat them.
Now, that was beginning to change.
The knowledge Gre Ka Go had given them had slowly spread throughout the tribe. Hunting techniques were being remembered and taught. Weapons were being improved rather than simply replaced. The weaknesses of predators were being observed, discussed, and passed from one hunter to another.
Gre So Ner slowly straightened his back.
For a moment, his movements had almost seemed like a dance with the predator rather than an actual fight.
Then, from somewhere behind him, whistles and loud claps broke the silence.
"That’s clean as fuck, Gre So Ner!"
Gre So Ner glanced over his shoulder.
One of his companions was leaning against his own stone weapon with a broad grin on his face.
"It’s only one predator, but I’ll give you credit for it," the Magnari added, nodding toward the corpse. "Good job."
Gre So Ner tightened his grip around the handle of his dagger before letting out a quiet sigh.
"You are right, Gre No Ta. It’s only one predator."
His eyes remained upon the dead scorpion for a moment longer.
"But it’s still nowhere near enough to rival the beasts of our tribe, let alone compete against them..."
Gre No Ta’s grin faded.
"You are still hung up on that?" he asked with a sigh. "Face reality already, Gre So Ner. Magnari like us don’t stand the slightest chance in the tournament."
Several months had already passed since Gre Ka Go had fallen into what the Magnari could only describe as a terrifying illness.
None of them understood what had happened to their Tribal Chief. They didn’t know why his body remained alive while he refused to wake, nor did they understand why no amount of calling, shaking, or attempting to rouse him had produced any response.
As far as they were concerned, Gre Ka Go was alive.
But he was also no longer truly there.
It was a state so strange that the Magnari could only compare it to death.
Many had initially attempted to bury him according to the burial tradition Gre Ka Go himself had introduced to the tribe. They hadn’t intended it as an act of disrespect. Quite the opposite. Burial had become their way of showing respect to those who had passed away, and after watching their Tribal Chief remain motionless for so long, some of them had begun believing that refusing to bury him was simply refusing to accept what was already obvious.
Gre Ka Chu and Gre Ma Go had refused.
The two had been among Gre Ka Go’s closest and most trusted aides since the earliest days of the settlement, and neither was willing to accept that their Tribal Chief was dead.
Until his body stopped breathing.
Until his heart stopped beating.
Until there was absolutely nothing left.
Gre Ka Go was alive.
That was all there was to it.
The others had tried to reason with them at first. Months had passed without any meaningful change, and the longer Gre Ka Go remained in that condition, the more difficult it became for the Magnari to believe that their Tribal Chief would ever open his eyes again.
Yet every time someone brought up the matter of burial, Gre Ka Chu’s murderous wrath immediately brought the conversation to an end.
No one wanted to test just how far she would go.
And so, out of respect for Gre Ka Chu and Gre Ma Go, as well as the lingering hope that their Tribal Chief might somehow awaken, the Magnari eventually refrained from burying his barely responsive body.
But losing Gre Ka Go’s ability to lead had created a problem far greater than the question of what should be done with his body.
The Magnari had lost the individual who had built the foundation upon which almost everything they possessed now rested.
The development of the settlement had gradually dwindled. Their rate of expansion had shrunk considerably, hunting parties were no longer organized with the same efficiency, and even the steady advancement of their weapons and various crafts had begun losing the momentum it had once possessed.
More importantly, the Magnari themselves had become increasingly difficult to manage.
Gre Ka Go had never ruled through strength alone.
His strength had certainly been overwhelming, but the authority he possessed came from something far more complicated. The Magnari respected him. They feared him. They trusted him.
And, perhaps most importantly, they believed that whenever Gre Ka Go told them to do something, there had to be a reason behind it.
Even when they couldn’t understand that reason themselves.
Now...
That unquestioning obedience had begun disappearing with him.
The Magnari started doing as they pleased.
At first, the Elder Council attempted to fill the gap.
They took charge of the Tribal Chief’s responsibilities and divided the various matters of the settlement among themselves. It wasn’t as efficient as having Gre Ka Go manage everything, but it was manageable.
The hunters continued hunting.
The craftsmen continued crafting.
The settlement continued expanding.
For a while, that was enough.
But eventually, even the Elders began to realize that they weren’t actually replacing Gre Ka Go.
They were simply preventing the settlement from falling apart.
Whenever a new problem appeared, there was no longer a single figure whose judgment everyone could simply trust. Whenever a decision needed to be made, the Elders had to argue among themselves before reaching an agreement, and even then, nobody possessed the strange certainty that had accompanied Gre Ka Go’s decisions.
The Elders could manage the tribe.
They couldn’t replace Gre Ka Go.
And eventually, faced with a problem they had never imagined they would need to confront, the Elders and the tribe’s key powerhouses began considering the matter of succession.
There was only one problem.
They didn’t actually know what Gre Ka Go had meant when he had once used the word elect.
They remembered the word itself.
They even remembered the subtle understanding that had accompanied it.
If someone wanted to become the Tribal Chief...
That individual had to be elect.
But what exactly did elect mean?
How was it supposed to be done?
Who was allowed to participate?
Who was supposed to choose the winner?
The Magnari had absolutely no idea.
They possessed the word.
They possessed the feeling behind it.
But they didn’t possess the knowledge.
So the heads of the tribe began searching for the qualifications Gre Ka Go himself had possessed.
Perhaps, they reasoned, if they could find another Magnari with enough of those qualities, then that Magnari could naturally become their next Tribal Chief.
Strength.
Intelligence.
Judgment.
Knowledge.
The ability to guide the tribe.
The ability to make decisions that nobody else understood until the results eventually proved him right.
They considered one quality after another.
And each time they compared their strongest Magnari to Gre Ka Go, the same problem appeared.
None of them had everything.
Not even close.
Gre Ka Go had been an anomaly even among their own kind.
His physical strength alone had placed him in a position that none of the others could hope to reach, while his strange intelligence and ability to understand matters far beyond their current knowledge had made him even more difficult to replace.
Eventually, the requirements began shrinking.
If the next Tribal Chief couldn’t possess Gre Ka Go’s intelligence, perhaps intelligence wasn’t necessary.
If they couldn’t find someone capable of guiding the tribe exactly as he had, perhaps that wasn’t necessary either.
If nobody possessed his judgment...
His knowledge...
His ability to develop their civilization...
Then what did they actually need?
The answer eventually became embarrassingly simple.
Strength.
Gre Ka Go had been the strongest Magnari among them.
Nobody had ever questioned his position because nobody had been capable of challenging him.
So perhaps that was the answer.
Whoever was the strongest should become the next Tribal Chief.
It was simple.
It was understandable.
And unlike intelligence or judgment, strength was something every Magnari could recognize.
There was no complicated method needed.
They simply had to fight.
And that was how the idea of the tournament came into existence.
Every Magnari who believed themselves worthy of taking Gre Ka Go’s place would face the others, and they would continue fighting until only one remained standing.
The strongest would become the Second Tribal Chief.
They didn’t truly understand what an election was.
But through their limited understanding of a single word Gre Ka Go had once given them...
They had created their own version of one.